


Project Management

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Gen, Yin Yang - Freeform, drunk scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working together on a project is a good way to get to know someone better.</p><p>Written as a gift for sporkfosterfan for the 2015 Good Omens Holiday Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project Management

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Pictionary was first published in 1985 by Angel Games Inc.  
> You can make Aziraphale’s sweater: http://www.freevintageknitting.com/free-sweater-patterns/coats51/shepherd-tartan-cardigan-pattern

“All I know,” whinged Crowley peevishly, “is that I’m not riding a bus again.” 

Silently, Aziraphale handed him a handkerchief, which Crowley used to dab at the stubborn spot on the lower edge of his suit jacket. Giving up, he made a gesture with his fingers to miracle the stickiness away, and tried hard not to think too much about what gooey substance he’d come in contact with from the double-decker’s seat. He’d previously had no reason to ride public transportation. 

“‘t’s tacky; is what it is.”  Crowley was all about appearances. Everything he wore, everything he owned was sleek and stylish. It was a rare occasion for him to come in contact with grime (dust was another matter), although on one memorably miserable night he’d spent two hours in a squelchy field personally shifting the construction marker pegs for the M25 a few occultly significant meters. He’d burnt his clothes afterward in a bin in the kitchen. It had set off the fire alarm in his flat. He’d observed the other residents from his window with professional satisfaction as they’d exited the building into the dank drizzle – he’d had no reason to leave. 

“Mmm yes, tacky,” Aziraphale agreed. It certainly had been a sticky and persistent stain. Aziraphale had always taken very good care of his clothes – he had some jumpers that were decades old. Today he was wearing one of his favourites – a V-neck cardigan in a bold checked pattern called the Shepherd Tartan. Aziraphale would never dream of miracling a stain away, although he was not above making sure his local laundry service had the very best detergents and solvents. He tried not to think too hard about where the residue chemicals ended up. 

The two supernatural beings had just concluded another business meeting about the child Warlock (the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness). It was their cunning plan that, through their opposing influences, the boy might actually not instigate the Apocalypse on his eleventh birthday. The prevention of this event was extremely important to both the angel and the demon because they had grown rather fond of their earthly lifestyle and definitely did not want to have to return to their respective headquarters. 

Despite their nearly 6000 years of co-existence on the planet, and a thousand since the Arrangement, up to this point they’d never worked together on a project. They’d certainly come in contact with one another upon occasion, usually because the forces of Heaven and Hell had personal interest in the outcome of a situation and had instructed their earthly emissaries to intervene. Aziraphale and Crowley had kept careful tally of the end results of these circumstances so that neither side appeared to have advantage. Other than that, they’d agreed not to interfere in each other’s activities. 

Aziraphale retrieved his handkerchief and turned to trudge back to his bookshop in Soho. Crowley gazed after him for a moment and called, “Wait a moment!”  The angel stopped. 

“Let’s do something that’s not related to work,” Crowley proposed. “I know this great little place where you can get Vietnamese food. It’s just around the corner from here. Do you wanna come?” 

Aziraphale considered. He’d always been very careful in his previous contacts with the demon. He was acutely aware that they were on different Sides, and that Crowley had once been an angel like him. It underscored in his mind the necessity of caution. However, it had been Crowley’s idea to cooperate on the project and, so far, he’d behaved like an ang…well, like someone well-behaved. “Very well,” he assented. 

** 

It had been a delightful evening, full of laughter about shared circumstances and situations. It turned out the bureaucracy of Hell was every bit as tedious as the endless report-writing required by Heaven. They exited the restaurant and Crowley grandly gestured to the Bentley, parked at the kerb out front. 

“May I offer you a ride?” he invited. 

Aziraphale looked up and down the street, at the Bentley, and then at Crowley. “How…?” 

“The Bentley is wherever I need it to be,” responded Crowley with a grin. He opened the passenger door for Aziraphale, then circled the car to the driver’s side. 

The interior of the Bentley was rather cramped and Crowley could have adjusted a few molecules to create more room, but he quite enjoyed the look of discomfort on the angel’s face at the tight quarters. Crowley shifted into gear and ever so subtly brushed Aziraphale’s thigh. He inwardly chuckled when he felt Aziraphale flinch. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squeaked. 

“Mmmmm?” the demon purred as the Bentley’s engine accelerated smoothly. He shifted into second and his elbow bumped into Aziraphale’s ribs. The angel almost hit his head on the Bentley’s headliner as he jumped from the contact. 

“Your wiles won’t work with me!” Aziraphale fussed. “You’re trying to tempt me into something. It won’t happen – I know how you and your kind work…” 

“Honestly, no,” said Crowley, a bit confused himself. He messed with humans daily, but usually refrained with Aziraphale – it was a matter of professional courtesy and respect. But in the midst of the evening’s food and drink, the pleasant conversation, and the current proximity, Crowley had discovered he quite fancied the angel’s company. Now it was as if some irresistible impulse was causing him to do stupid actions intended to drive Aziraphale away. 

The cordial mood of the evening was ruined as awkward silence between the two created a distance immeasurable by inches. After making brief arrangements for their next meeting, the angel exited the vehicle with a curt expression of thanks. He unlocked the door of the bookshop and retreated inside without a backwards glance. 

** 

Inside the shop, Aziraphale grimaced and sighed. He hadn’t meant to sound so priggish around Crowley. He’d had brief encounters with Crowley before, but working closely together with someone on a project provided an entirely new perspective. Tonight had been a further revelation. They’d genuinely been having a good time at the restaurant. 

Spending time with Crowley wasn’t bad – Aziraphale had actually started looking forward to meetings with the demon. This new mindset was part of an evolution, and that was a concept on which he didn’t quite have a grasp. 

Sitting in the dark, he stared bleakly out the front window at the haloed light around the lamp post on the corner across from the shop. He’d never felt so alone in all his existence. 

Perhaps an apology was in order. 

** 

Meanwhile across town, Crowley stalked his flat, his plant mister in one hand and a pair of pruning snips in another. He glowered at a terrified philodendron, which trembled as it concentrated all its chlorophyll on its facing leaves. Crowley felt an odd mix of anger and fear – anger at himself for ruining what had been a lovely evening; fear that he had somehow ruined his evolving relationship with Aziraphale. 

He’d actually been having an enjoyable evening with the angel. Of course they’d previously spent time together, but it was always in passing and usually work-related. Tonight hadn’t been business – it had been pleasure. 

It now suddenly seemed important to be on Aziraphale’s good side. Truth be told, Crowley had been the one tempted. He repeatedly jabbed an aerator probe into the potting soil of a stoic ficus tree as he furiously mulled over what he’d been tempted to do. 

The phone rang and Crowley practically flew across the room to answer it. 

 

**  **  **  ** 

 

“It’s just names for sides,” Crowley reiterated. “Good and evil, heaven and hell…” 

“Yes, I’ve put some thought into that,” Aziraphale answered. “The reason for knowing the difference between good and evil is so that you can definitively know which side you’re on. Humans make those choices every day. It’s quite a relief that we don’t have to; wouldn’t you agree? We know our boundaries.” 

 _The angel doth protest too much, methinks._ Crowley and Aziraphale had just attended a performance of _Hamlet_ at Regent’s Park. Overtly, their attendance had been the cover for another meeting on Warlock’s progress, but truthfully, they had grown to enjoy spending time with one another. 

The demon replied with a smile, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." 

Aziraphale laughed at Crowley’s fitting response. “This above all: to thine own self be true!” he bantered. 

It had been several years since the incident in the Bentley and the two associates been spending a lot more time together that didn’t have anything to do with Warlock. The competence of Messrs. Harrison and Cortese meant perfunctory progress reports on the child were an adequate summary for the project update. As they amiably drove together down Regent Street, Crowley chatted about the upgrade he’d recently made to his computer system and Aziraphale mentioned the new editions he’d recently acquired. It was the continuing conversation of two colleagues who were comfortable in each other’s company. 

Crowley parked in front of the bookshop and Aziraphale opened the car door. He turned and asked Crowley, “Would you like to come in?” 

Aziraphale had never invited Crowley in before. Typically, Crowley would stop in and invite himself to stay. Raising an eyebrow, he gave Aziraphale a long, cool look over his lowered shades. 

“Er, okay!” he said brightly, then face-palmed. This was not at all the impression he wished to make. He clambered out of the car, straightened his tie and jacket, and followed Aziraphale into the shop. 

** 

Several hours later, the back table in the bookshop was strewn with bottles and Crowley held out his glass as the angel uncorked another one. 

“Libra,” Aziraphale stated, sloshing over the edge of Crowley’s glass. “The Earth is a Libra. I figured it out once. Counted backwards…mmm…well, a long time. Days and days and…” 

“I thought your kind didn’t go for ass…asss…star stuff,” Crowley absently replied. He stared at the glass and tried to count backwards how many he’d had. _Damn new math,_ he thought, forgetting he’d been responsible for it. 

“Stars and constellations go ‘round and ‘round and don’ fall down.” Aziraphale’s head fell onto the table with a clunk. The impact caused him to raise it and rub his forehead. “Planets wandering all over the sky in predictable orbits. Libra, I tell you. Has to do with…uh, balance.” He plunked the bottle down and it fell over. 

“Sstars fall,” countered Crowley. “You wissh on them.” 

“Erm…no,” said Aziraphale. “That’s meter…meter…rocks from space. Killed all the dinosaurs.” He sunk morosely down in his seat. 

Crowley got a crazed look in his eyes. “Balance,” he said, “let me sshow you ssomething about balance.” He stood up and wobbled his way the few feet to the computer desk and snatched a sheet of paper out of the printer. Aziraphale observed him with the same horrified fascination with which one would watch a tightrope artist. Crowley turned, wavered, then unsteadily returned to his seat. He collapsed in safety and Aziraphale released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

After fumbling his pen out of his jacket pocket, Crowley flatted the sheet on the table and drew a large circle….ish shape. Aziraphale stared at it cross-eyed and shouted triumphantly, “The MOON!” 

“Nope,” Crowley answered. “’t’s a CIRCLE. Stands for eternity. Like you ‘n’ me.” He scrawled a wavy line across the middle of the circle. 

Aziraphale grabbed the sheet. “SNAKES on the MOON?” Crowley grabbed it back. 

“Nononono. Thiss isn’t Pictionary. You just sit there ‘til I’m done.” He circled his arms around the paper protectively and hid it from Aziraphale whilst he drew. Aziraphale pouted. Crowley glared at him before returning to his sketch. Aziraphale refilled both their glasses. 

“Look,” he finally showed Aziraphale. “Half of it’s dark and half of it’s light. It’ss called a yin yang and it’s a ssymbol of balance.” 

Aziraphale peered at the sketch. “Don’ look like a cymbal. Whadda the dots mean?” 

Crowley scrutinized the drawing like he was seeing it for the first time too. “I don’ remember for ssure. It’s like nothin’ is absolute. Even if you draw this line,” he waved toward the S-shaped line dividing the sphere, “some of what’s inside endss up on the other side. It represents the dual nature of things.” 

“Oh!” said Aziraphale. “I know a poem ‘bout that!” With one hand flat on the table to steady him, he stood up and dramatically recited: 

_You’re the sun to my moon_  
_The yin to my yang_  
_There’s nobody else_  
_That I’d rather bang._

Crowley just stared at him. “Wha…?” 

“Bang!” explained Aziraphale, falling emphatically back into his chair. “Like a cymbal.” 

“Pretty sure that’s ‘Bang a Gong.’” 

“Huh?” 

“You know, bang a gong, get it on…T. Rex!” 

“No,” Aziraphale said sadly, draining his glass. “I told you the dinosaurs are all gone.” 

** 

In the morning Crowley was gone, but he’d left the sketch behind. Aziraphale studied it again. Now he recalled what the dots meant. Not only are things meant to be in balance, but nothing in the world is singular in nature. Each side exists in the other and through contrast is understood. Aziraphale shook his head. He’d always struggled with duality, finding it difficult to accept that two seemingly opposite elements could be contained simultaneously in the same entity. How could the two aspects coexist without tearing their host apart? Was it possible that the two fit together like pieces of a puzzle, with the picture not becoming clear and whole until they were joined? How could something be both black and white? 

He hung the sketch on the mini-fridge where he kept his milk for tea, using a promo magnet from the dry cleaner. It might take until the end of the world for him to figure it out, but luckily he and Crowley had been working together on a project to prevent just that event from happening.

Aziraphale sat comfortably in his armchair and opened one of his new books, the black text in sharp contrast to the creamy white pages.

 


End file.
